


Machine Learning

by Precursor



Series: I Am Alive [3]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Afghanistan, Africa, Androids, F/M, Gen, Marine Corps, Robot/Human Relationships, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-02-07 12:32:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18620701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Precursor/pseuds/Precursor
Summary: Captain Allen didn't have a plan after the showdown at Hart Plaza.  He wasn't sure how he got there, after all he'd been through.  Wasn't sure how things could ever get that bad.  But maybe deep down, through all the trauma, hewassure.  Maybe hedidknow.  After all, he'd seen therealstart of deviancy.  It's just that, back then...nobody wanted to listen.He'd bet they wish they had, and they were 10 years too late.





	1. Disclaimer

**Author's Note:**

> **[A Spin-Off of[Deviant Behavior]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14851244/chapters/34379699)**   
>  **[Updates alongside[Natural Selection]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18384533/chapters/43536062)**   
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **[Machine Learning Trailer](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=avC6QhpwpEA)**  
>   
>  **NOTE:** If you are viewing the outline listed below on a MOBILE DEVICE, you will need to toggle the PRINT LAYOUT option in the upper right-hand corner of the app.  
>   
>  **[Machine Learning Rank and Assignment Guide (Google Docs)](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1PFncBNknVRcM4cmzyxGV6AufaprmCXf1unroYDF5V8M/edit?usp=sharing)**  
>   
> 

* * *

* * *

 

After doing extensive research, writing this story became something more than a retelling of the gruesome backstory of a character that was glossed over in Detroit: Become Human.  It became more than a “spin-off” of _Deviant Behavior._ More than a fanfiction.

It became a challenge to make this real.  Visceral.  To show both sides of what war really _is,_ and to honor those who have lost their lives during the conflict; military personnel or otherwise.

I've watched videos, documentaries - read personal accounts of experiences in Afghanistan and Africa from real-life US Marines.  I've even interviewed friends and family of mine that have served, gathering information on dialogue, protocols, etc.

There will be political conversations and racist undertones.  There will be underlying issues that may resonate with you while you are reading this.  There are certain scenes that will make you uncomfortable.

Before you flame me in the comments section, I’d like to make some things very clear:

This was not written to glorify war, the United States’ Armed Forces, or vilify those of Islamic (or any other) faith.  This was not written to push a political agenda, racism, or support any platform associated with my own personal opinions or beliefs.

 

**This _is…_**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Notable Mentions (Videos):**  
>   
>  The Hornet’s Nest  
> Restrepo  
> Combat Obscura  
> Generation Kill


	2. Dogs of War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"In man-machine symbiosis, it is man who must adjust: The machines can’t.”_  
>    
>  \- Alan Perlis

* * *

* * *

 hen a soldier loses everything, they turn feral.  They become hungry for a purpose, ready to rip through anyone and anything just so they can tear a sliver of meaningful existence off the carcass.

That’s why they reenlist.  And I can’t blame them.

Out of the 44 years that I’ve been alive on this war-torn planet, I’ve had a gun in my hand for 26 of them.  More than half of the breaths I’ve taken were so someone else wouldn’t have the chance.

Most of us had something to rationalize it, in some aspect.  _More_ of us just weren’t meant to be put back in society.  We weren’t like the military canines that could just be euthanized if they were too aggressive, too _damaged,_ to be embedded within civilian life.

We got hooked on that sense of purpose.  Got the shakes when we ran out.  Went through _withdraw_.

I got my fix, being a part of SWAT.

When I first started, I found it tame compared to what I was used to.  Now, it’s just enough of a hit of purpose to keep me straight.

Connor needed some purpose, some of that _drug._

It might not have been my place, interjecting when Hank was screaming at him for not saying a word.  For getting lost in that timeless void where memories of past failures looped around until you could pinpoint that one mistake that led to the death of someone you love.

_“Shut the fuck up, Allen.  This ain’t one of your Vietnam soldiers or what the fuck ever.”_

He’d gotten in my face, closer than I would’ve let anyone else, but this instance called for patience.

 _“And you-“_ He’d turned back to Connor, _“If you think this doesn’t suck for everyone, you’re wrong.”_

That had been the second time I’d seen him choke up.  The first was when Cole passed.

As a father, the pain of losing a child would be unbearable.  I’d stepped into a shadow of what that must feel like, back in Africa.  Here, in Detroit…it felt like I was under that shade once again.  Like the sun was being blocked by clouds, keeping all the light and warmth with it.

That cop – the one that I’d grown to accept as a member of the DPD’s family, the one that I’d challenged to put her life on the line to avenge fallen members of my _different_ family, the one that’d been packaged and shipped to Camp Leatherhead…

Felt a lot like losing one of them, _all_ over again.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t proud of her, though.  Just wish she was around for me to tell her that to her face.

_“Let me talk to him, Anderson.”_

Hank’s shoulders had risen and fallen, giving rhythm to the despair that I’m sure he didn’t want to revisit, just as much as I didn’t.

_“Fine.  Whatever.”_

He’d swiped at his nose, pushing past me just to turn on his heel, jabbing a finger at Connor, _“Don’t fucking do anything stupid.  I don’t need to lose anyone else tonight.  You hear me?”_

_“I…”_

Connor blinked, the red circle on his head spinning in a different kind of unbreakable loop.

_“I hear you.”_

 

…

 

“Captain?”

“What?” I turned my head, snapping out of a daze and looking back at my team, “You find something?”

“A whole lot of good sniping positions…” Liam rolled his shoulders, looping his thumbs in the holes of his belt.

“It’s difficult to see much of anything in this blasted snow,” Sage shielded her face, shaking her boot clean.

Jack grumbled, “Blizzards are just frozen sandstorms…”

I snickered in agreement, turning to him, “What about you, Cooper?  Find anything?”

“Negative.”

“Grenier?” I rolled my eyes, “How’s Widget doing?”

“He’s on a scent trail.”  He marched, rifle in hand, underneath his drone’s cone of light that scanned the ground, “Looks like we’ve got…two sets of prints.  Some are pretty new.  He can’t make much more of them.”

“Lastimosa,” I turned my head the other direction, “Think your eyes can work them out?”

“Tch, maybe…if this damn helmet wasn’t getting in the way…” She took it off, shaking her half-head of hair free in the breeze.

Her eyes took on that faint glow for just a second, the same way that Marco’s would when he did his android bullshit that made our recon equipment null and void.  It was like she had lenses built in, hell, she probably _did._ Following a lead in the middle of a winter night, I wasn’t about to complain.

“I’ll never get used to that…” Akane mumbled next to me, “You’re a freak of nature.”

“Shut up and let me focus.” Liera huffed, narrowing her eyes.

She knelt, her chin raising as her line of sight collided with the end of a waist-high cement railing that lined the perimeter of the roof.  A gust blew hard, frozen specs of snow pelting her face.

“I think I got something.”

Liera rose, slowly, her steps following in those of another as carefully as Grenier had walked when he was digging up IEDs out in the desert.

She approached the ledge, head tilting to the side.  She looked at me, and then back over the snow-covered city.  Took her rifle in her hands, and dropped to a knee.  Placed her elbow on the top of the ledge, looking down the scope.

“Miller-“ She mumbled, her hair blowing wildly as another plume of snow ripped through us like a band in a hurricane, “Think they’d be able to make the shot from here to Hart Plaza?”

Liam adjusted the strap on his shoulder, taking to her side.  He leaned over, looking down, “Hard to say…but yeah, I’d put money on it.  Thinkin’ the sniper posted up here?”

Liera pulled back, “Sure do…”

Her sights trailed over something invisible to the naked eye.  I crossed my arms, keeping my mouth shut and letting her work.  She was never one for distractions.

“Then they dropped the weapon…”

She bent down to swipe snow off a black case, previously hidden.

“…And then someone came _back_ for it.”

The latches were loud as she clicked them loose, and when she opened the lid – the weapon crate was empty.  Just a shell with foam lining that matched parts of a sniper rifle capable of making the shot that killed the people’s champion.

The world needed a hero…

But instead, we were sent a _martyr._

“You sound confused.” Akane interjected.

“Those two sets of prints were the same type…” Liera shook her head, “Maybe the same _person.”_

“I don’t think it was the same person…” I sighed, kicking off the ledge, “I think someone misunderstood my advice.”

It didn’t take a blizzard to bring the chill that came after that.

“You think it’s him, Cap?” Liam asked the question everyone wanted the answer to, but didn’t want to _ask._

“An anonymous tip.  An ominous message.  Stars are aligning, Marauders.”  And then I gave the order that I didn’t _want_ to give, but _had_ to, “Call it in.  Perkins is gonna have our asses if we don’t report this…”

Everyone looked at each other.  There was nothing but the wind and a latch rattling somewhere, banging against a metal _something._ No glimmer of hope but the LED screen of a CyberLife android advertisement that was more than likely going to be shut off once things calmed down. 

“I’ll do it…” Jack sighed, marching off in a corner with his finger pressed to his mic.

Liera swore under her breath.  She crossed her arms, shivered, and walked next to me.

“Would’ve never imagined we’d be reporting to Perkins again…” She snickered, “Especially after what we pulled…the rescue, the church…”

She wasn’t the highest-ranking Marine when I’d met her in Afghanistan.  But here, she’d established herself as a team leader, in a sense.  It was almost like she’d just needed more room to _grow_.  Detroit had that effect on people, I guess.

“How’d we get here?”

I didn’t know how to answer her question, at first.

“A series of unfortunate events.”

They’d been the years that _took everything_ from me.  They’d been the years that _gave me_ everything.

“You ever miss it?” She asked.

 _That_ answer didn’t take very long to come up with.

“Every day.”

Sage came up to us, leaning her back on the ledge and propping her elbows up on either side, “Whatchya talkin’ about?”

“Oh, just reminiscing the old glory days…” Liera sighed, “Bet _you_ of all people would give anything to go back, eh, ‘Doc?’”

“Greenside life has its own pleasures…” Her usual, overly optimistic demeanor shifted into a somber one, “But yes, if I could go back, I would…granted, I’d do things much differently”

I raised a brow, “You would?”

“Absolutely.  You remember how it was…”

“Heh…do I…”

I took in a heavy breath through my nose, and let it out alongside an audible sigh.

“How could I forget…”

It’d started with a manifest, and had ended in a _massacre_.

Urgent Fury made me question the “ _everythings”_ that’d been taken from me and given to me while I served under Eagle, Globe, and Anchor.  I’d forgotten who I was, and was forced to live with who I’d _become…_

Because when a soldier loses everything, they turn feral.

But _we_ were never soldiers…

We were the First to Fight.  Leathernecks.  Devil Dogs.  Black Diamonds.

No, we weren’t soldiers…

We were _Marines._

 

* * *

  

**Behind the Scenes**

 

* * *

 

[Eagle, Globe, and Anchor](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eagle,_Globe,_and_Anchor)

[Marine Nicknames & Slogans](http://www.angelfire.com/rant/military/page6index.html)

[Greenside](https://www.quora.com/How-do-I-become-a-blue-side-corpsman-What-are-the-pros-and-cons-of-Blueside)

[References Chapter 55: Law for the Wolves (Deviant Behavior)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14851244/chapters/37668794)

[References Chapter 71: Night of the Soul (Deviant Behavior)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14851244/chapters/36073698)

[Machine Learning](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Machine_learning)

[Written to "Dogs of War" by Blues Saraceno](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2tN875A3Bj8)


	3. Heaven's Gates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * * *
> 
>  _“Here’s health to you and to our Corps_  
>  _Which we are proud to serve;_  
>  _In many a strife we’ve fought for life_  
>  _And never lost our nerve;_  
>  _If the Army and the Navy_  
>  _Ever look on Heaven’s scenes;_  
>  _They will find the streets are guarded..._  
>  _**By United States Marines.”**_
> 
> * * *

hen you first sign up, and you step out of that bus on Parris Island, you’re told that once you walk through those doors – you won’t leave them again as a civilian.  You will only leave them as a _Marine._

I stepped through Heaven’s Gates…and when I left, I was sent straight into the _Hellmouth._

I was 18 years old the first time my boots hit the ground in Afghanistan.  With a few breaks between, I’d spent two years in this nightmarish desert.  And after the US handed Camp Leatherneck over to the Afghan forces; after our national anthem played, succeeding _theirs…_ I was sent home, Camp Lejeune, to enjoy the life of on-base housing and a nice Drill Instructing job.

Living so close the largest east coast USMC base, you’d think the civilians would at least know a thing or two about common courtesies.  You’d be wrong.

They ask “why’d you do it” like I’m a criminal who confessed to murder. When they do, it’s as irritating as when someone asks if the tattoos “mean anything.”

I want to tell them it’s none of their business. I want to tell them they have no right to question me, as I don’t question why they chose to sit behind a desk in an air-conditioned building from 9-5 except on weekends. I want to tell them I wasn’t cut out for mundane, and when I got my girlfriend knocked up when she was 17, I needed money. I didn’t have time for school. I got my GED and picked up a gun.

But I tell them I “did it” for the love of my country, and the love of protecting it from the front lines of another. For the love of my family, and the love of making the world safer for them.

Maybe there’s some truth to that.

When they ask me why I still do it, or how I’ve been able to do it for this long...

What I want to tell them and what I actually tell them is always the same thing:

“Once a Marine, always a Marine.”

I just never admitted that, after all I’d seen…

I’d lost touch with what it meant to _not_ to be a Marine when I didn’t _have_ to be.

And when I got the call to _return_ to Camp Leatherhead, I had to stop being a father.  A son.  A husband.

What came before didn’t matter.

After that, I was only Staff Sergeant David Allen, someone who’d seen a lot more than the people under my supervision.  I answered with a simple, “I’ll do it.”  It’s not like I had a choice – not _really_.  Even if I did, I’d ask them why they didn’t call sooner.

So, I packed what I needed to, got on a plane…and I went back to the place where it all started.

 

…

 

You don’t know heat until you’re out in 130 degrees with 80 pounds of gear weighing you down.

Your uniform starts sticking to areas of your body you didn’t know existed.  Being “hot” becomes relative – you forget what it feels like to exist when you’re not being cooked alive.  Each breath you take is at least as warm as the air leaving your body.  Sand blows across the desert in transparent waves, getting just as lodged in your mouth and other places as if you were swimming in the ocean.

With gallons of sweat seeping into the padding of my vest and whatever other contraptions my MOS required I had strapped to my body at the time, I may as fucking _well_ have been swimming.

I walked alongside a small convoy, parked and stationary, the EODs and Vallons leading the way.  Corporal Pierson and her dog were along the side of the dirt road, planting red flags – speaking to the Afghan military personnel in their own tongue.  I couldn’t make out a lot of it, but _mahyn, “_ mine,” and _naatas,_ “don’t be frightened,” stuck out the most.

“My, balls, are on FI-REEE-“

I looked up, a grin peeling on my face and cracking my dried lips.

Private First Class, Jack Cooper.  The guy dancing in place in the gunner’s seat behind a .50 Cal turret, humming the familiar song with his own, colorful lyrics.

“I’m walkin’ on FI-RE-ee-EE!”  Grenier answered from the other side, a handheld IED Detector scanning the ground as he took small, controlled steps.

“This, girl is on FIRE!” Pierson called as her trainee marked a mine, his dog sitting at his side.

“Look what you went and started,” I said to Jack, “Gonna’ have the whole convoy singing about how sweaty their balls are.”

“Not the _whole_ convoy,” Pierson answered, “Under-boob sweat?  That’s a whole different story.”

“Ya know,” Jack leaned on the shield of his turret, “Some of these dude POGs can bitch about under-boob sweat, too.”

“No, listen, there are some things that only a woman understands, okay?  Don’t take that from us.”

“Psht-“ Grenier snickered, chiming in as he passed between the gap of two Humvees, “Alright, stay over there withchya under-boob sweat, then.”

My handset crackled, a beep marking a transmission.

**“Wr…gler 2… this is …angler …3, o…er.”**

I sighed, rolling my eyes, “Wrangler 2-2, sounds like you’re talking through an empty can…try cleanin’ your handset and try again.”

I let my rifle dangle, taking a drink from a water bottle.  I drank until it got to the bottom, where it was the _hottest,_ and drained the rest down the back of my neck.

I tossed the bottle in the window, and it landed on someone’s lap.

“A present, Staff Sergeant?” Chaplain leaned out, “For lil’ ol’ me?”

“I know – you’re spoiled.”

**“Wrangler 2-2 this is Wrangler 2-3, how you read me now?”**

I held my handset up to my mouth, “2-3 has you loud and clear, over.”

**“Roger.  Hey, I’ve got three unknowns moving in along the road right in front of us.  I can’t see a whole lot, but they’ve got sagging trunks and they’re movin’ pretty quick.”**

“Roger…” I turned my head, pushing my sunglasses up my face, the sweat leading them down the bridge of my nose, “Checking.”

I rolled my shoulders, taking a few steps to the right.  Sand clouds plumed out behind from a file of white, low-riding cars as their profiles shimmered on the hot horizon.

Everyone was watching, now.

“2-3, try to get eyes on them and see if they’re armed.”

**“Roger.”**

I took my gun in my hands, waiting patiently for the next relay.

Waiting.

You did a lot of that as a Marine.

You were stowed on some base, in some _tent,_ for days on end.  You were expected to keep yourself occupied when you weren’t working on trucks, lifting weights, beating the ever-living fuck out of each other just for entertainment.  Reading letters from loved ones, or kids sending them from school.  Listening to the radio, when allowed, trying to keep tabs on the media’s version of what you were doing on the front lines.  Playing soccer with the locals’ kids as the rest of the unit searched and printed the males of the village, or getting sent out to the boonies to fix a water pump.

That was an interesting one.

Me, cranking a wrench underneath some third world machinery.  Dirtied gloves, a t-shirt, and my back to the desert floor.  Fassi had needed to take a piss, joked and said he was gonna do it on my legs.  I told him I’d shoot him if whatever Jihadist he didn’t see while he had his dick in his hands didn’t do it first.

And then a scorpion crawled over my arm, and he pulled me out from under the pump by my ankles after I’d screamed like my daughter did when she was 2.

It was a good time.

**“Wrangler 2-2, this is Wrangler 2-3.”**

I cracked my neck, “2-3, 2-2 go ahead.”

**“Hey, roger, hey – uh…we’ve also got two foot-mobiles that’re moving outside from building.  Just kinda’…northeast of your vehicle.”**

I didn’t have to wait long for this, though.  Didn’t have to wait for a perfectly normal training exercise to turn into a complete clusterfuck.

A little ways out, two men waved their hands at the convoy – their stark-white “pajamas” bright against the sand surrounding their village.

“Roger, that’s affirmative…understand it’s about off your 10 o’clock right now?”

I’d walked through the gaps of two trucks, confirming they were who he’d been talking about.

**“Yeah, yeah 10 o’clock – about 300 meters out.  Might just be locals, keep your eyes on ‘em.”**

“Roger, moving around in white clothing?”

**“Affirmative, yeah you guys should be able to get out the glass and see a little bit better than we can from where we’re sittin.’”**

I held up my rifle, peering through the scope.  Tried to see what he was seeing, and identify whether or not they had weapons hidden under their garments.  After a gust and a flash of metal, I confirmed that, naturally, they _did._

That wasn’t a coincidence.  Those didn’t happen, out here.

“Copy all, looks like I got those two individuals moving, armed and dangerous.  I repeat, armed and dangerous.  Might be working with the traffic.  Over.”

**“Roger.  Be advised, redcon one in five mikes, over.”**

“Solid copy, redcon, five mikes.  Warn ‘em and search ‘em.  On my way.”

**“Roger.”**

“2-2 out.”

In the last 9 months, I’d done nothing but teach grown men the difference between the barrel and the ass end of a gun.  Helped the veteran ANA keep tabs on their new recruits – those who chose to pick up a gun and fight _for_ the Afghanistan government instead of _against_ it.  I’ve heard stories from shadows of my 18-year-old self, asking when they were going to get the chance to kill someone.

They’d been seduced by the ghost stories of Helmand.  The province where the Marines, hell, the United States as a _whole,_ took their heaviest casualties back during the days of Operation: Enduring Freedom.

I was like them, back before I lost sisters, brothers – among them, some of my closest friends.  Back when I was just another boot who took orders, idolizing people like me who’d been serving past the 5-year mark.

Now that I was _responsible_ for them, gunning down some Taliban bastards may have lost part of its glory…but pulling my trigger before they could pull theirs gained _so much more_ importance.

I racked my knuckles against the armored vehicle I’d ridden in, “Fassi, on me.”  I nodded ahead to Pierson, her dog waiting patiently at her feet, and her Afghan trainee looking up the road – _alarmed,_ “You too.”

“Think it’s Taliban?” Pierson asked, pulling Kaid’s leash.

“With movement to the east and these assholes Tokyo Drifting their way to the roadblock, I’d say _probably.”_

“Well if they gotta problem, you say hello with that 40 mike mike for us, Staff Sergeant.”  Jack gave me a dramatic salute as I looked over my shoulder.

His comment rallied everyone in the Humvee underneath him, “Oorah’s” echoing like the seagulls in _Finding Nemo._

“Evie, here, is a problem solver,” I reached behind me and patted the 40mm grenade launcher strapped underneath my pack, “And you get that bitch hot if I say so.”

There weren’t too many problems a turret or explosives couldn’t solve.

Unfortunately, that went both ways…

We just happened to have a lot more explosives than the Taliban.

“AYE, SIR!”

I began the march to the lead truck, unsure of what was waiting for me up ahead.  It was a nice change of tempo from the grueling day-to-day, with the kind of monotony that could make a man _insane,_ just _waiting_ for the opportunity to cross some terrorists off the Most Wanted list.

Because, like I said, we the Marines of the II MEF spent a lot of time waiting…

 _Years_ , after a war with the terrorists hiding in bushes and mountains was laid to rest.  We’d only returned to nullify that boredom.  To make sure that the Afghan forces were able to keep the peace, to pave the roads over the trails blazed by the Marines that’d landed here before.

But, you know what they say…

If you want peace, prepare for **war.**

 

* * *

 

**Behind the Scenes**

 

* * *

 

[Written to "Gun I My Hand" by Dorothy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UYNpuL9ooFU)

[Referenced Song was "Girl on Fire" by Alicia Keys](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3b1YSNsF2eE)

[Radio Chatter Reference](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WCX8x3f7XMo)

 


	4. Wrath of God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Sensitive content warning. Based on a true story.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * * *
> 
>  _“From the Halls of Montezuma_  
>  _To the shores of Tripoli;_  
>  _We fight our country's battles_  
>  _In the air, on land, and sea;_  
>  _First to fight for right and freedom_  
>  _And to keep our honor clean;_  
>  _We are proud to claim the title_  
>  _**Of United States Marine.”**_
> 
> * * *

ierson, her dog Kaid, and I walked down the line with our human translator next to me.

Jalal El Fassi, a good kid.  An Afghan native who fled with his family to the United States as a refugee and later joined the Marines.  I’d worked with him a lot during that deployment.  Considered him a close friend, too.

Times between operations were long, and maddingly boring.  He’d told me a lot of stories from his childhood to pass the time.  Most of them revolved around idolizing US troops as a child, growing up in a village where distant explosions weren’t even enough to make 5-year-olds _flinch._ To them, they were no different than a sunrise.

Because of all that, Fassi hated terrorists just as much as we did.  The United States gave him a second chance, and to him, he was paying it forward.

He and Pierson were having a conversation in Farsi, laughing at me.  I caught a few cheeky glances from the corners of their eyes.

“Hey, knock that bullshit off.”

“Yes, sir.” Fassi chuckled.

Pierson snorted, and they continued their conversation in English.

“ANA reported activity in a roadside village, but I wasn’t expecting all this.” She said.

“Isn’t that the village we did all that outreach shit at?”

“With the scorpion…yeah.” I rolled my eyes, “That’s the one…”

“So you think the reports are full of shit?” Pierson asked me.

“We have our orders.  Does it matter what I think?”

“No, sir.”

“Nope.  Doesn’t matter what you think, either.” I sucked my teeth, “But I’ve got my 15-day R&R in three days.  Kinda need you all alive for relief in place, so let’s not fuck this up.”

That got a laugh out of them.

“We won’t fuck it up for you, SIR!” Fassi shouted.

When we finally made it to the front of the convoy, the gravity of the standoff hit harder than the sunrays from Hell.

“Fass, get on the mic and tell them they’re going to be searched.”  I nodded to a Marine in the lead vehicle, and he passed Fassi a handset.

Didn’t know what the fuck he said, but there was a shout from the other side of the dirt road no man’s land.

“Get any of that?” I asked him.

“No, sir.  But they heard _us.”_

“Alright, Pierson…” I swallowed hard, not really _wanting_ to send her ahead, “Go on and do your thing.  We’ll all be right here.” I turned my head to the Gunner in the turret’s seat, “And so will he.”

She exhaled through her nose, wrapping Kaid’s leash around her hand and adjusting her grip on her rifle, “Yes, sir…Kaid, let’s go boy.”

My CO came up behind us, helmet off, “There something I need to know?”

“Negative, Lieutenant.”

“What’s the holdup then?”

“Nothing, sir.  Marine.” I nodded to Pierson.

She closed her eyes, calmed herself down.  Took a few steps forward, and Kaid was attached to her side.

What I didn’t know was that Grenier was ordered to accompany them.  Apparently, it wasn’t enough to have a dog on the trail.  We had to paint a target on both of them with an electronic scanner, too.  Taliban weren’t stupid.  They knew what those dogs, their handlers, and those sticks with boxes on the end of them were capable of.  Undoing all their IED work.

**“Wrangler 2-2 to 2-3 actual, over.”**

My Lieutenant held a handset to his mouth, “Go ahead 2-2.”

**“Roger, we’ve got locals in the village trying to tell us something.  Can’t understand ‘em.  Over.”**

Lieutenant Chambers rolled his eyes, pinching his temple, “Roger.  Here’s Fassi.  Over.”

Fassi moved a little closer, cracking his neck while listening.  His brows pinched, and he looked up.

“They’re trying to warn us.  Said the Taliban came through and planted IEDs along the road, sir.”

**“Wrangler 2-3 to 2-3 actual, over.”**

“Go ahead Pierson.”

**“Kaid just sat, sir.  Live one on marker.”**

Chambers let out a drawn-out sigh.

“Roger.  Sending a team.  Out.” He shook his head, looking at me, “It’s gonna take us all damn day to just _get_ to those vehicles…”

I shrugged, “Life’s a son-of-a-bitch.”

“Ain’t that the fuckin’ truth…”

Times like those, when I first started, I’d swear under my breath because it was just supposed to be a simple “resupply run.”  But with 40 pounds of explosives dotting pockets along the road, awaiting our return trip…nothing was ever _simple._

But the locals were coming around.  A nice sign of progress in a country that was known for not trusting outsiders.

After what they’ve been through, I can’t say I’d trust us, either…

Or anyone, for that matter.

 

…

 

Fassi and I were ordered to make our way to the village.  Can’t say I ever liked being sitting ducks, but we were in a better position than Grenier and Pierson, to say the least.  The convoy rolled up slowly behind them as each bomb was taken care of.  I half expected the unidentified vehicles to turn and run.  The fact that they _didn’t_ made me that more nervous.

“Fassi.”  I stopped next to him as a flock of children tried to pull my attention away.

“Staff Sergeant.”

One child, a little boy, started waving his hands at me and speaking rapidly.  He was wearing a small kufi, the traditional caps of their people, and robes that were probably a lot more comfortable than an itchy Marine uniform.

“What’s he saying?”

Fassi knelt, keeping his barrel pointed down.  I looked around, surveying the area as they conversed.

Children were always more open to talking to us than adults.  They gave us the best information, and it was for this reason some of us who’d been around long enough started carrying candy and treats in our back pocket.  It was the small things that made a difference to these people.

No matter how much my squad rotated, I made damn sure they’d set an example under my supervision.  We were to be respectful.  We were to make the locals feel as comfortable as we could, since we were on _their_ land.  When we stopped and searched vehicles, we kept smiles on our faces because we all knew we were inconveniencing them for our safety, as well as their own.

I was never naïve to less honorable Marines.  They were still my brothers and sisters, and all I had the power to do was show them they didn’t have to be complete savages just because they’d seen some shit they weren’t old enough to see.

“They’re saying it was over there-“ Fassi pointed up the road, “Near that wall, next to the white building.”

I’d learned a few basic manners while having a translator with me.  Ask the question to the translator, and make eye contact with the local when they were speaking.  Look back at the translator, listen to the translation, and give them another question to ask.  Rinse and repeat.

I turned my head to Fassi, “Ask them how long ago they were here.”

He did, and they all answered at once, talking over each other.  I don’t know how he did it, but he was able to come up with a coherent answer.

“72 hours ago, sir.”

I looked over, clicking the radio.

“Get EOD one klick up the road.  White building, near the west wall.  IEDs about 72 hours ago, over.”

**“Copy that.”**

I took to a knee, reaching around to a pocket on my waist.  Pulled a few red lollipops, fanning them out with a smile.

“Moteshakeram.” _(Thank you.)_

Fassi always said my accent was horrible, but he also told me the fact that I’d taken time to learn a few words would go a long way with the Afghan people.  There wasn’t much else to do when work was caught up on base, so our lessons took up most of my downtime when I wasn’t throwing weights around… _or_ new Marines.

A man with a turban swung a curtain away from the entrance of a mud house, stepping down a stair.  His fists swung loosely before he waved his hands around, yelling what sounded like a name.  The boy who’d talked to me went pale – like he was caught doing something wrong.

I held a flat palm out, standing up immediately, “Stop right there.”

The man had something in his hand.  Something small, like a cylinder.  Like a _detonator._

“Fass, tell this asshole to stop.”

I aimed my gun, and so did Fassi.  He was yelling over the man who was walking way too fast.  With too much _intent._   Getting too close to _my men._

“Tell him to stop or I’m gonna put a fucking bullet in his head!”

I don’t know if Fassi ever relayed my messages verbatim, not that it really mattered.  He usually got people to do what we needed them to.

All that respect I’d sought to give; all those smiles I’d painted on my face – all those lectures I gave my squaddies went away with the flick of a switch when they were in _danger._   Pissing off a few villagers and taking a father away from a family were consequences and guilt I’d live with if it meant preventing a bomb from going off, killing Marines just trying to do their job.

Luckily, I wouldn’t have to make that judgement call.

The man stopped.  With his head in my crosshairs, I didn’t bother telling Fassi to translate.

“STRIP DOWN!”

Fassi yelled in the same tone that I did.  Message delivered.

I didn’t need to look behind me to see what this man was looking at.  Someone had a turret pointed at him.  Heard it move.  Also heard a woman sobbing uncontrollably, beckoning for the children.

“That man is the child’s father.” Fassi warned, “The tallest one.”

The kids were at my knees, crying and trying to reason with me, their hands clasped and begging.  Their mothers joined the first woman, summoning them from the entrances of their mud houses, but the kids wouldn’t listen.

They were distracting.  They were touching me, and my gear, while I had a gun pointed at a member of their community.  They were _too_ comfortable with military presence.  They were _getting in the way._

A hand touched my belt, bumped against a _grenade,_ and I had no choice but to shove the small limbs away.  I looked away for two goddamn seconds and heard something _else_ that I’ve heard too many times.

“ALLA-“

_Bang. Pop._

Fassi’s gun discharged, and the man’s skull burst in the center.  The children started screaming, matching their mothers’ cries.  And while most of them ran to their arms…another ran to the body.

“GET AWAY FROM THAT!”

The boy dropped to his knees, holding his father.  He looked back at me, wiping tears from his face, replacing them with fresh blood.

“Fassi, tell him to move-“

He did.

“He’s not listening, Staff Sergeant-“

Shouts from my men, and those under men that outranked me, came from my 6.  They were lined up, the clicks of their guns signaling a firing squad.

And that boy, the one who’d been so happy to take a gift in the form of a lollipop, something that we, as Americans take in bowls and buy by the _bags_ – something so foreign an unattainable to a child like him, looked at me with pure _hatred_ in his eyes.

“…Fassi-“

The boy turned back to the corpse in front of him.  His barely grown hands fished around the motionless fingers of his father.  His mother ran to him, screaming something I didn’t understand.

I had the kid in my sights.  I had my finger on the trigger.  I didn’t want to do it.  I didn’t want to live with that, but I didn’t want to _die,_ either.  I didn’t want the kids behind me to die, those that weren’t old enough to drink in the country they put the uniform on for in the _first_ place.

All I saw was my daughter, when she was barely old enough to tie her own shoes.  Not possibly old enough to understand the evil of the world, and how it takes good men hostage – forcing them to make _evil_ decisions.  Not old enough to know how holy words can be twisted to justify unholy acts of _war._

That woman – that mother, she got to her son in time.  We’d just killed her husband, and she’d saved me.  She saved me from making that hard decision.  She may have saved my life, because out of all the lives I’ve taken, I don’t know if I would’ve been able to live if I’d been forced to take that child’s.

I started breathing again, watching the detonator fall back on the dead man who we would later find had a bomb strapped to him, stuffed with shrapnel, ready to take down the kids and villagers alike if it meant a few dead Marines.  And even though I was shaking, I stood still.  Watched that woman drag her son in the house.  Hoped that whatever kindness we’d shown him today would be enough to sway him from supporting the same terrorist cell he’d warned us about.

Fassi and I, or any of the others, never talked about it.  We pretended it never happened.  All of us did.

It was easier that way.

“We’re going to check the houses…” I said over the radio.

Saying _anything_ after that, on that day, was just part of routine.  Part of the same system in my body that regulated vital functions.  It was automatic, not a conscious act.  Something I had to do to _survive._

“On me.”

 

…

 

Fassi had his work cut out for him.  He had a notepad and a pencil, writing down words that came as wails of pain.  While he did that, I assigned someone to watch his back and searched each house with the rest of my team.

We didn’t know what cultural boundaries we were crossing.  Didn’t know which rugs we were supposed to not step on, or touch.  It didn’t matter.  We were looking for stockpiled weapons.  Holes in walls that led to makeshift warehouses.  Something dawned on me while I was searching those houses, finding a mural with guns and blessings written around it.

“Fassi,” I asked over my shoulder, “Which kid flagged you down, first?”

He stopped mid-sentence, and his hesitation said it all.

“The child of the suicide bomber, sir-“

**“Staff Sergeant Allen, we’ve got a vehicle approaching the rear roadblock.  Coming in hot.  How copy?”**

I looked around the suicide bomber’s house.  Looked at the child hiding in the corner, muttering something under dazed eyes.  Looked at the mother who was staring into the same void, all hope lost.

“Stop that vehicle.”  My hand returned to my gun, “Fassi, get information out of her.”

I left an assignment with him and exited the house, jogging back to the convoy. 

**“R-“**

My head followed the nose of a sidewinding sound, like it’d been conjured from the air and rode thunder.

**“P-“**

I saw the red tip.  The trail that followed.  The glistening shimmer across desert sands.

**“G!”**

I’d barely hit the ground before the finger of God touched the Earth and sketched a portrait of destruction.

 

…

 

I wasn’t really supposed to be there.  It was more his show to run, and I didn’t have anything else better to do.  I put my time in as a drill instructor, and let me tell you, it was some of the most fun I’ve ever had during my contract.  But him…

Sergeant Liam fucking Miller.

One scary mother fucker, I’ll give him that.  Especially after a boot got smart with him…and after Liam had given the guy that crazy-eyed look, that sharp smile, you could practically _smell_ the piss running down dude’s leg.

“You think you’re out here, ridin’ around in these rusted buckets, spreadin’ God’s name on what, some holy crusade?!” Liam shouted, and then his voice fell into a rough, coarse whisper, “Lemme tell you somethin’…Raider to _maybe_ an Infantryman…Man to _boy._ ”

He had a cap on, bill facing backwards.  He flipped his sunglasses down, hiding the scarred lids that covered his eyes.  Got maybe an inch from the recruit’s face.  His spit landed on him like a bug on a windshield.

“You have to _KNOW_ , the wrath of God before you can _DELIVER,_ the wrath of God.”

Liam took the pick out of his teeth and walked down the line of shivering “boys.”

“And until you have _LOOKED_ into the eyes of the _DEVIL_ when he has come to take you to where you rightfully belong…”

Texas accent and tattoos that told his story, he looked and sounded like some fucked up preacher that got lost on his way to a sermon and opted for a career change.

“…Until you have _LOOKED_ into those eyes, and learned mercy from the evil _LORD_ himself…”

Liam stopped down the line, barking the final words of his teachings.

“You do not _KNOW_ Hell, or Hell’s Fury. You do _NOT_ know _FEAR.”_

And then he walked back up, stopped in front of the kid, and shouted with every ounce of anger that had built up during his time in MARSOC.

“DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR, MARINE?!”

“YES SIR!”  His voice cracked.

“SEMPER FI, BROTHER HANCOCK!” Liam laughed, slapping his shoulder while he stuck his pick in his mouth, “Semper Fah.”

I crossed my arms, shaking my head at the ground with a smirk.  I’d always told him he was a spectacle with a gun.  Not only did it _not_ insult him, but he embraced it.  While he earned the name “Tex” from his buddies, I got away with calling him Sparkler.

“SERGEANT MILLER, SIR!” The recruit shouted.

Liam stopped.  His eyes were still covered, but the eyeroll wasn’t very well hidden.

“What now, Boot?” He turned to him.

“THIS MARINE HAS A QUESTION, SIR.”

“Better be a good one…” Liam shifted his weight, thumbs looped in his belt.

“What does this Marine say to the Devil, SIR?!”

Liam snickered.  He swiped at his nose, cracking his neck.  Then he looked up.

“You tell him ‘Not today,’ Marine.”

He flipped up his sunglasses, approaching Hancock with a gentler tone.

“You tell him Not Today.”

 

…

The village came in blurred flashes, my head rocking back and forth.  Blackness and white noise for chatter turned clear and crisp.

**“Line Echo: AK-47s and RPGS.  How copy so far? Over.”**

**“Wrangler 2-2, this is Wrangler Actual – we are approved to level the building.  Over!”**

**“Solid copy-“**

**“I have Wrangler 2-3 on the ground requesting immediate CAS at map grid CA315-Niner-Niner-2, break, Push to –“**

I saw my boots being dragged along the ground.  My legs were in front of me, but I didn’t feel them.  Didn’t feel _anything._

“Talk to me, Staff Sergeant!” Fassi yelled, “TALK TO ME!”

I squeezed my eyes shut, opened them, blinked a few times, “Yeah-“

My head hit the ground as he dropped my shoulders.  The sky was narrowed between two buildings.  He was yelling over the radio, telling them we were cut off.  That we were pinned in an alley.  That civilians were running for cover in their homes.

I shook off the shellshock.  Picked up my rifle, scraping sand out of a few notches with my knife. 

It hurt to move.  It hurt to _breathe._   To this day, I have no idea how Fassi got me to cover so quick.

“Shit, fuck, _pedarsag_ -“

A civilian rounded the corner, hands in the air.  Fassi held his gun up, yelling something in Farsi.  He just kept yelling, and _yelling._   The woman started screaming, crying; then fell into a crouch and covered her head.

“Fassi-“ I coughed, spitting up blood, “GET IT TOGETHER!”

I used the butt of my gun to stand up, leaning against the wall for support.

“I can’t do this-“ He muttered, shaking like a leaf, “I can’t-“

I grabbed the straps of his vest, pulling his face close to mine.  And then I _yelled_ in it.

“THE TALIBAN – WHAT ARE THEY?!”

His eyes darted left and right, his teeth chattering behind gaping lips.

“I SAID WHAT ARE THEY-“

“TERRRORISTS, _SIR!”_

 “AND WHAT ARE YOU?!”

Gunfire clacked, and explosions bellowed.  I looked over my shoulder, finding a pillar of smoke climbing higher and _higher-_

“A MARINE!”

“I’m sorry,” I looked back to him, “I couldn’t hear you over all that BULLSHIT!”

“I AM A UNITED STATES MARINE, _SIR!”_

“THAT’S FUCKING RIGHT YOU ARE!  AND YOU CAME HERE TO MAKE A DIFFERENCE!”  I shook him, “SO MAKE A _FUCKING_ DIFFERENCE!”

He closed his eyes, whispering something I couldn’t understand.

“I GAVE YOU AN ORDER!  GET-YOURSELF-TOGETHER, MARINE!  DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?”

He opened them, pushed a breath through his nose, and those trembling lips turned into a little more of a snarl.

“YES, SIR!”

Fassi backed up. Fixed his helmet.  Yelled for himself, rather than me.

“OORAH!”

We’d stopped the convoy to get information on IEDs leading back to base.  That information was supplied by the same people who we thought we’d made progress with –  the same villagers who’d told us that all they wanted was improved water supplies and new schools, because the Taliban destroyed most of them.

That was a week ago.  Now, this village was a warzone…One we had to get _out_ of.

The Devil had waited.  The Devil had come.

Our answer to him was a message that would be carried out by the Wrath of God…

_“Not today.”_

 

* * *

 

**Behind the Scenes**

 

* * *

 

[Part I Written to "The River" by Blues Saraceno](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ncic96eYXRE&list=PL0zUMypxys08JZUbzTrpoanU9m0TMiKOJ&index=3)

[Part II Written to Radio Chatter (Epic Song Remix)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pTSnDchWW78&list=PL0zUMypxys08JZUbzTrpoanU9m0TMiKOJ&index=1)


	5. Sundown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Warning:** Contains racial slurs with a little bit of "blasphemy."  
>   
>  **Note:** The next chapter is where Machine Learning and Natural Selection officially cross into each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * * *
> 
>  _“Our flag's unfurled to every breeze_  
>  _From dawn to setting sun;_  
>  _We have fought in every clime and place_  
>  _Where we could take a gun;_  
>  _In the snow of far-off Northern lands_  
>  _And in sunny tropic scenes,_  
>  _You will find us always on the job_  
>  _**The United States Marines.”**_
> 
> * * *

he feeling of a 40-millimeter grenade being launched by the pull of your finger never gets old.  The slam of steel on your shoulder.  The kicked-up dust underneath you – around you, and the explosion wherever the fuck it hits…hopefully on target.  The cheers of your squad.  The smart remarks.

None of it.

It was just another afternoon in the office for us.  Fassi on comms, translating an intercepted enemy radio signal.  Bullets ricocheting off the Humvees we took cover behind or inside of.  The clanks of bullets missing us by inches.  I even threatened Cooper that if I didn’t count 200 shells from his turret, I’d make him clean up shit with his bare hands.  That thing didn’t stop firing except for reload.

Then on the ride back, you wait for it to catch up with you.   You wait for that voice in your head that died long ago to speak – to remind you that this _isn’t_ normal, and most people wouldn’t be out here laughing and cracking jokes with civilians hiding in fear and terrorists taking potshots at your head.

The _trained_ voice speaks up, though.  Tells you that you aren’t most people.

You’re a Marine.

And so it never catches up.  It just stays on the battlefield where it belongs…where it should die with the rest of those assholes who thought it was smart to set up an ambush on us.

“’Demolition is the Mission.’” Grenier snickered, staring at the smoking buildings long behind us, “Jesus, what a day.”

Grenier, Pierson, and Kaid only made it back by the skin of their teeth.  He was a lot more talkative than she was.

I had my elbow on the edge of the passenger’s window, hands gripping the top.  The dips and rolls from suspensions that needed a hell of a lot more work than was offered made my back tweak every time the cabin rumbled.  Particles of dust and sand slipped into my eyes, up my nose, and down my throat like muffled truth sprinkled upon the political lies behind our deployment.

Afghanistan was a beautiful country when it wasn’t baring its ugly teeth.  There was nothing quite like a desert sunset.  The gemstone sands rolling as far as the eye could see.  Oranges and pinks – jet trails that looked like pastel streaks in the sky.  A warm touch of a dry heat breeze to whisk away the sweat.

When the monster was sleeping, it almost looked inviting.

“I never thought I would have to kill my people to save my people.”  Fassi whispered from the driver’s seat next to me.

I turned my head, but I wasn’t the first one to answer.

“Sounds like some real Jihadist shit right there-“ Chaplain hacked a spitball out the window.

“Cut him some slack, fuckin’ asshole whiteboy.” Rodriguez interrupted.

I cocked my chin at him, not that he could see my eyes through the black sunglasses.  He got the hint.

“…No offense, Staff Sergeant.”

I blew a laugh through my nose, looking back out the window, “’Wonderbread’ was always my favorite.”

I’d honestly heard a lot worse when I was their age.  Can’t even count the amount of times I traded the “N” word for “honkey, redneck, trailer trash, cracker, hick, country bumpkin.”  White, black, Hispanic, Asian, didn’t matter.  All that don’t ask don’t tell bullshit didn’t matter in the Marines.

You were who you were, and you were punished for it regardless.  That’s what brothers and sisters do.

“Say what you want, someone needs to tell him the honest to God truth.” Chaplain laughed, “Those ain’t your people, Fassi.  They’re the goddamn enemy, and the whole reason you ran from this shithole in the first place.”

Fassi’s grip on the steering wheel tightened.  We hit a dip, and the entire vehicle rocked.

“You put down enemies of the good old United States of A-fucking-Merica.  You’re a mother fucking _Marine_.  Your ‘people’ are right here with you, goddamn goat-fucker.”

“Mirinam to kose nanat-“ Fassi spat.

“The fuck you just say?” Chaplain leaned up, “Heard a whole lotta’ Allah whatever-“

“You’d like to know, wouldn’t you, cousin-fucker?”

There was a silence, most would’ve called it awkward.  It was a tipping point.  Chaplain was either going to explode, and I was gonna have to do damage control…or everyone was going to do what they usually do.  Luckily, Chap laughed first, and the others followed suit.  Damn near in hysterics, all of them.

I sighed, minding my own business.  Still had a headache from being nuked into oblivion.

“Saved my ass today, Fass.  Nice to know you were lookin’ out for me when the big man upstairs was distracted.”

The laughter faded, and the idiots in the back went on about who knows what.  Fassi sniffed, crinkled his nose.

“You still believe in your God, Sergeant?”

I’d been a man of faith as long as I could remember.  My time as a war-fighting adult had only taught me God had a really, really sick sense of humor.

Point, blank, period: If we don’t kill ourselves first, the sun’ll pick up where we left off.  It’ll consume Earth, one day.  That reality was inevitable.  Irrefutable.  Cold, hard science that none of the hundreds of religions baked on this planet can’t debunk.

And then we’ll all be dead.   Everything we do, burned to the ground once the sun explodes and Earth is just another uninhabitable planet to be discovered by the next whatever-the-fuck evolves from wherever-the-fuck.  Or not.  Maybe that dustrock’ll stay floating in the unknown, and no one’ll bother to notice.

But I told myself, we’re all going to die anyway, right?  And none of us really _know_ what comes after that.  None of us really worry about it while we’re working ourselves into the ground, going through the same motions every day to pay bills – selling our lives to banks and debt.  No, we don’t ever think about what comes after that.

“The fact that we’re alive to have this conversation is enough to keep the faith, for me…”

Seconds-long claps of thunder boomed overhead as the convoy came closer to the entrance of Camp Leatherhead…or whatever it was called on paper, now.

A silhouette of a steel bird cut through the sun’s rays, casting shadows along each blade that spun like wild, black hair.  That outline traced every rocket silo, every pointed gun, every bullet hole that littered the doors and punctured the painted teeth on the nose.

It was returning to the flock, descending with the setting sun.  It was like slow motion, like it was sent with church bells to highlight a point.  Maybe the big man upstairs wasn’t so distracted, after all.

“…Turns out our angels are just different than what the Bible made them out to be.”

I meant what I said, and still, there was never a man who believed without some doubting – especially in our line of work.  We were given this life, and we so carelessly put it on the line every damn day.

That’s what made us different than everyone else…but what made my life different than Fassi’s?  Before the Marines, I sometimes asked myself what I had to do to make an impact, to keep my name living through the billions of years forward until the sun explodes and burns Earth.  And if _my_ life didn’t matter, if everything I did was going to get buried in Earth’s timeline, a news feed of catastrophes and near-nuclear wars, what was the point?

If we’re all gonna die anyway, what’s the point to _anything?_ This species that builds, and builds, and destroys, and builds again.

How many names have been lost to make that happen?

The answer, in sum total, was a lot.

A lot of names have been lost to get me, and everyone else, to exactly where we were.

Those that I loved and cared about were still alive.  I didn’t worry about what would happen to them, or how long they had.  I spent time with them when I could.  I tried to enjoy them while they were still around, even if it was inconvenient.

I stopped thinking about what came after death a long time ago.  I learned that it didn’t matter, because right now, and back then, I was _alive_ for the first and _only_ time…

And when it’s put like that, it’s not so different than a deployment: We couldn’t fuck it up.

We only had one shot.

That day, we made it count.  God-willing, we lived to tell that story, our names not lost to history…

Yet.

 

…

 

The image of the descending helo burned in my head.  Titled up at an angle, its tail pointed at the ground.  As the rest of the convoy rolled in behind us, I let out a long sigh through my nose, Oakleys covering my eyes and helmet on my hip.

Alone time was rare, here.  Rare, and much needed. 

A cloud ran from the attack chopper landing on the pad.  Probably looked weird, me – standing there, bloodstained and expecting.  Didn’t care.  Still don’t.

There was something about it I couldn’t put my finger on…

But as the pilots came out, walking in their indistinguishable flight suits and helmets with round aviation visors and radio attachments, it hit me.

They walked side-by-side, giving each other a high five as they adjusted the bags on their back.  Took off their helmets, frame-by-frame, like a movie scrolling just to play out my curiosities.

I’d never seen flying like they did during that airstrike.

A full-on barrel roll in an AH-1Z Viper just to dodge a ground-to-air missile.  Shouldn’t have been possible.  Only guardian angels could’ve worked that kind of holy magic…or voodoo, whatever you wanna call it.

His squadron was known as “The Gunrunners.”  They were legends.  His markings simplified things as they came into view, and he threw on a pair of aviator sunglasses, stopping just short of me.

He waved off his co-pilot, Damian, promising to catch up with him later.  He stopped just short of me.

“Excuse me, er…” He looked at my patch, “Staff Sergeant Allen.  Do I know you?”

He was younger than me.  Still an officer.  Typical.

“No, sir, First Lieutenant Miller.  You sure don’t.”  I extended a hand, “On behalf of Recon 2, the guys you covered just a few hours ago at the ambush.”

He shook my hand.

“That was some crazy flying out there.”

“Eh…I’m sure I’ll get put on report for it later.”  He looked back at the helicopter, winding down and waiting to be fired up again.

“Been flying long?” I asked.

“Not as long as I would like.  My pops was real pissed it took me so long to get here, and I signed up at 18.”

“He serve?”

“Him and his father before him.  Granddad was a Tuskegee Airman, 717th Bombardment Squadron.  World War II marked a career path for male Millers in my family.”

“That’s a big name to live up to.”

“Workin’ on it…” He shrugged, “Shoulda seen my dad’s face when I told him I was joining the Marines instead of the Army.”

I laughed.

“You have family that served…or serves?” He asked.

“Same as you.  Dad, grandfather.  Also fought in World War II.  Survived Pearl Harbor and went on to help liberate Auschwitz.  Was also pissed I joined the Marines instead of the Navy.”

“At least they’re…ya know, _kind_ of friends.”

“Kind of.  Can’t say much for the Army, though.”

“Hah, can anyone?” He snickered.

We started walking back to the base, “Just wanted to say thanks.  You guys don’t hear it enough.”

And then he stopped, his facial features hardening, “Oorah.”

“Oorah.”

Might’ve been the first time I met him…but it wouldn’t be the last time I ran into the rising star pilot, First Lieutenant Chris Miller – callsign “Sundown.”

After I asked him about it a day later, all he did was put his helmet on.

“They call me Sundown, cause when this visor goes down,” He flipped it, the black ballistic glass blocking out the world as his hands extended on either side, challenging anything against him, “Ain’t _nobody_ shootin’ at Marines gonna see another sunrise, baby-”

His smile was bright against his dark skin.

A smile that was so very happy to be shredding terrorists to bits with a twin-engine attack helicopter.

The Bible didn’t have shit on _these_ angels.

 

* * *

 

**Behind the Scenes**

 

* * *

 

[Written to "Medicine Man" by Dorothy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0O276T_4fow)


	6. The Manifest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * * *
> 
> _“This is my rifle. There are many like it, but this one is **mine."**_
> 
> * * *

 f anyone had the luxury of being “lucky” out there, I suppose it would’ve been the guy with a shitty tabletop air conditioner that was $30 on Amazon sitting on his desk.  Well, card table.  I wouldn’t really call it a desk.

I tapped my pen against my elbow, leaning back in my chair.  My office, my _tent,_ didn’t offer much in the way of privacy.  But I decided to sneak a phone call, anyway.

“Do you even know how much soccer equipment costs now?”

My arms were crossed, and I smirked at the fabric ceiling that rolled in a wave from a slight breeze.

“No, but I’m not out here dodging bullets for nothin’.  Just get her the damn shin guards she wants.”

I yawned, leaning forward to continue reviewing the inbound shipment.  I got to decide who put what where, and it was also my ass if anything went missing.  I’d got hung up on something…something expensive, and unheard of.

“David, they’re $139 a pair because they’re Diadora.  WalMart has the same kind for-“

“Sadie, if Tali wants the $139 cleats, just get her the fucking cleats.”

“You’re working, aren’t you?”

“…No-“

“Jesus fucking Christ, Dave, you can’t give me 10 fucking minutes?”

“Honey, look…I’m sorry, alright?  I’ll be there tomorrow, and then you can tell me I’m am asshole to my face.”

“…And I still get to call you an asshole for 15 days, right?”

There was a good chance my 15 _days_ would get cut to 96 _hours_.  A really good fucking chance.  I couldn’t tell her that, though.  Not after hearing her voice, the underlying excitement, the _hopefulness._

Fuck, I’d missed them so much.  At that point in time, it would’ve been easier not to see them.  Not to hear from them.  Just pretended they didn’t exist, that I wasn’t missing Tali grow up by months, or years, at a time…and that Sadie didn’t have to raise her by herself.

“Yes.  You and Tali are stuck with me for 15 days.”

She deserved some hope for reprieve.  I wasn’t going to take that away from her.

“…It might be more than me ‘nd Tali.”

Until I wished I had.

“…What.”

“Your parents are coming down from Detroit-“

“Sadie.”

“And your grandparents are coming up from Atlanta-“

“Sadie-“

“Your aunt and uncle-“  
  
“Where the hell are these people staying?”

“Hotels.” She gulped, “I thought…”

She got quiet.  The practiced kind.  The sort of throat-squeeze I could practically _hear_ because my anger, my lack of control, put that fear in her in the first place.  Things had changed a lot since I punched that hole in the wall, 2 inches from her head, arguing about God knows what.  All I remember is putting Tali in her crib, and then drinking…a lot.  It’d been after the deployment when I saw a good friend of mine laying in the dirt with an unzipped stomach.  Friendly fire.  British missiles.

Had to stop thinking about it.

“…You did good, sweetie.  It’s not you, it’s just…” I sighed, “Something ain’t sitting right.”

“Did you get hurt?”

I looked in my reflection.  No longer a bloodied head wrap, but a gauze patch, instead.  A sling hanging off of my chair where my arm was supposed to be.  Scrapes, blisters, and cuts as far as my skin dared to show itself.

“No. I’m reviewing a manifest of inbound ordinance for next month.  There’s some shit here listed I’ve never heard of.”

“Maybe I can help.  What is it?”

“You know I can’t tell you that.”

“What can you tell me?”

I pondered.  She was my only “contact” to the outside.  She might actually know something, but I wasn’t immediately sure how to ask her without getting dishonorably discharged.

“Do you know anything about a manufacturer called CyberLife?”

She paused, that time around…as if she was reluctant to answer me.

“Yes.”

I creased my brow, not that she could see them…or my hand motioning for her to continue.

“And?”

She nearly cut me off, “David, is the US military buying from CyberLife?”

“Just tell me who they are, please.”

I heard typing in the background before she spewed information.

“Huge artificial intelligence company.  The two founders have been traveling around, selling patents for their algorithms and software to security firms, marketing agencies, all sorts of shit.  But the rumor is, their main product hasn’t even made an appearance yet.”

“What main product?”

“No one really knows yet.  They’re saying it could be robots…like, fully-functioning robots that can talk like you and I.”

All crazy robot shit aside, I couldn’t help myself.

“I don’t think anyone can really talk like you and I.”

That’s when I had the absolute pleasure of hearing her _other_ practiced tone.  The one that had been conditioned for me, and me alone.  That voice she took when I could _hear_ her smile, the way she looked at me…

“There’s something else no one else can do like you and I.”

That’s all it took for me to feel a twitch.  She always loved teasing me, and fuck, it’d been a long 8 months without the company of my wife.

I gulped, “Okay, okay…I’m calling a full retreat.”

“You’re boring.”

“Babe, I’m on a secured line, for fuck’s sake...” I frowned, invoking the belt loop trick, “But hey, I have to get going.  I’ll see you and Tali soon, okay?”

I gulped, knowing the sad voice was coming.  They always went in stages, these phone calls. 

“…Okay.”

“Give her a kiss for me.”

“I will, Dave.”

“…I love you.”  I swallowed hard.

“I love you too.”

And that was the end of it.

Thankfully, our goodbyes were always quick. Like ripping a band aid off instead of peeling it back, adhesive string by adhesive string.  Made things easier.  Made refocusing less painful.

Back to business.

Thirium-310.  Manufactured by CyberLife, purchased by the DoD.  There were two people that came to mind that might know something about an artificial intelligence firm…but only _one_ former chemist.

 

…

 

The Navy had their SEALs.  The Army had their Green Berets.  The Air Force had…well, the Air Force.

We had the Raiders.  MARSOC.  Marine Corps Forces Special Operations Command.

The kind of guys that either had you diving behind them or running for the hills – very rarely was there an in-between.  I found the one I was looking for.  Scratchy beard, hat turned backwards, deadlifting a weight that weighed more than most of the non-Raider boys walking around him with a 30-foot radius.

“Liam.”

He sniffed, and kept lifting.

“David.”

He didn’t stop counting, either.  He breathlessly mouthed the numbers, and with a flick of his eyes made it very well known I was annoying him.

“Not gonna make me stop, are ya now?”

But I’d been annoying him for years, and not even that gruff, Texan growl could scare me away.

I shook my head, leaning on a leg, “Tch, no.  I need to know where Talon is.”

“Over there, yellin’ at Henderson.”  He pointed his chin.

My body turned, looking at the tent.  “…Why is she yelling at the battalion commander?”

“Beats me.  We got orders to embed and head out, and then she stormed off.”

“Uh…huh.”

“I stay outta SARC stuff.”

Okay, so the Navy had their SEALs…but they also had their SARCs.  Could never decide which one was more terrifying.

“Don’t blame you…” I looked over my shoulder, “Alright, well.  Enjoy your workout.”

He gave a half-smirked, fully aware I was going to go get myself involved into something I shouldn’t.

“You know it.”

 

…

 

I heard her before I saw her.  She was the only one with a British accent, and one of the few who asked for tea instead of coffee…sometimes.  She was the only one who still had 10 working fingers after slapping cigarettes out of the mouths of many disappointed Marines.

“Dehydrated Raiders are _dead_ Raiders, and dead Raiders can’t kill your blasted Jihadists-”

“Your ‘dying Raiders’ are out there lifting weights in 100 goddamn degrees.  You know Walker put on a vest full of rocks and a gas mask before fucking running laps?”

I gulped, entering the tent only to earn a flicker of his eyes before focusing on the woman grilling him.

“Yes, sir, and with all due respect, you can’t expect to put highly-trained killing machines in the middle of a desert, without anything to _do_ , without them _finding_ something to do.”

“You’re a highly-trained killing machine, aren’t you, Petty Officer Talon?  I don’t see you dead lifting 350-pound weights.”

She pressed her gloved knuckles to the desk, haunching over, getting _dangerously_ close to the man who could make her disappear with a…”snap of his fingers.”

“Until my Marines get water, they’re not fit for active duty, or deployment.”

“They’re not _your_ Marines, Talon…” And then he leaned in _her_ face, “They’re **my** Marines.  And **you** better watch yourself.”

“I’ve got a team of Marine Raiders to watch my back for me.  Who’s watching yours?”

“I could put in prison for talking to me like that, and I _should-”_

“All I want is an extra case of water for the men that serve as your glass box and red button.  Is that so much to ask?”

Lieutenant Colonel Henderson looked at me, his eyes full of intent to appease.  Anything to get her to shut up and leave.  It seemed like that’s where he was at .

“Fine.  Go get your fucking water...”

He threw a card on the table, and it’d barely landed before it ended up in her pocket.

“…But Talon? You come in here talking to me like that again, the 3rd Marine Raider Battalion is gonna be looking for a new Corpsman.  You’re in Marine country now, little girl.  This ain’t the Navy.”

The hand at her side curled and uncurled, the pads of her fingers digging in her thigh.  I don’t think she knew I was there.  Don’t think it would’ve mattered if she had.  But then she pressed, something I didn’t expect even _her_ to be ballsy enough to do.

“SOIDC Corpsman.” She corrected.

Henderson looked up from a document on his desk.  He’d sat down, and motioned for her to leave.  She didn’t.

“Pardon?”  He looked at her.

“You said the battalion would be looking for a new Corpsman.” She sniffed, and straightened up her stance, “I’m an SOIDC Corpsman.”

Technically a step up from a special amphibious reconnaissance corpsman, or SARC, but SOIDC corpsmen were the kind of doctors you didn’t fuck with.  The kind that went through training similar to SEALs but embedded with the Marines when they were finished.  The Navy’s crown jewel in these parts.

“You’re pushing your luck, Talon.”

She huffed.

“It’s my job to push my luck, Commander.”

“Get the fuck out of my tent.”

“Yes, sir.”

Talon gave him a salute, turning on her heel.  She automatically moved around me.  Didn’t look at me.  Didn’t _acknowledge_ me.  Her eyes were focused and distant, her cheeks flushed red against her olive skin.  She was _pissed._   And then she was gone.

“Fucking women…” Henderson whipped his glasses across the desk before pinching his temple, “First Meghan Castellano becomes a SEAL, and _now_ they’re sending them behind enemy lines with MARSOC?”

I shifted uncomfortably.  There was no way I could get away with talking to him like she could.

“You don’t approve of women serving active duty, sir?”

Castellano had an impressive service record.  Talon’s wasn’t far away.  They were both decorated and well-respected.  That’s not taking into account all the other women around here…okay, the handful.  Maybe the Navy had been more progressive than the Marines.

“Fuck no I don’t, Staff Sergeant Allen.  I sure as fuck don’t.  You tell me you trust her to drag your ass 10 miles, if she had to?”

“She carried Sergeant Miller for 5.  I’d say she could pull off another.”

She’d saved Liam’s life more than once, but that particular instant seemed fitting.

“That’s not the point.  First, it’s a case of water. Then, she’ll come in here asking for goddamn memory foam mattresses, and after _that_ it’ll be some sexual assault bullshit.”  He rolled his eyes, “Anyway, what do you want, Allen?”

“I…” I cleared my throat, “I came here looking for her, actually.”

“Of course you fucking did.”  Henderson threw his glasses on, leaning on his elbows over his work.

He waved me off, “Dismissed.”

“Sir.”

I saluted and backpedaled out of there faster than I’d entered.

 

…

 

I yawned, pouring myself a cup of gross coffee from the tin pot.  I put it down to tuck my shirt back in, smirking at the tan line underneath the short sleeve.  Sadie always made fun of those.

“Being a black man in the military ain’t no walk in the park either, Fass.” Christopher Grenier slapped a card on the table.

The two of them were playing a game with Chris Miller and his co-pilot, Damian Bradford.  The tent we were all under was one of the shitty ones, and the doors never stayed where they were supposed to.

I remained a wallflower, flipped my Oakleys up, pinching the bridge of my nose as I fumbled for whatever sweetener had been left by the savages who rolled through a few hours before.  Didn’t have much to contribute to the conversation.

“Nah, that’s why you have to trick a white man to be your friend.”  Chris said, “Gotta have someone to stick up for you.  Ain’t that right, Bradford?”

“Sorry, Miller…Can’t hear you over all this ‘white privilege.’”

“Hey, Staff Sergeant Allen,” Fassi called, “Will you be my white friend?”

I rolled my eyes, shaking my head as I turned around, leaning against the table and crossing my ankles.

“No, Fassi.  No, I won’t be your white friend.” I said with a smirk as I took a sip of the dirt water with fake sugar.

“Damn, that was a _hard_ no.” Grenier instigated before putting another card down, “Go fish, mother fucker.”

The four of them laughed, and I did too – albeit more quietly.  I rolled my wrist, watching the MARSOC barracks tent posted up on the left.  Been watching, waiting.  Figured Talon wouldn’t have gone through all that hard work just to deliver.

Enjoying the company of the guys from afar, but not wanting to seem awkward, I picked up the manifest and started looking over it again – careful not to spill anything on it.  My Plan B was sitting in front of me, after all.

“Hey, Greenie.” I shot during a break of their banter,  “You know a thing or two about techy bullshit, right?”

Grenier was shuffling cards, bending them and filing them in his hands.  He lowered his chin, looking at me from over the top rim of his sunglasses, “Did you really just ask me that?”

“Yeah, look, whatever.  You know anything about Thirium-310?”

He whistled, dealing everyone their hands.  “Last time I heard about that, they were talking about filling up a robot with it and seeing how fast it could transfer data to  biocomponents.”

“Who is ‘they?’”

“Colridge.  Oxford.  Big leagues.”

“And they were transferring data to bio-wha?”

“Biocomponents.  Basically, machine parts that mimic human behavior. There’s a thirium pump regulator that beats like a heart, a “mind palace” for a brain, all that good stuff.”

My brows jumped, snickering under my breath, “A robot human, huh?”

“Yeah, the prototype was nightmare fuel, but I’ve heard they’re spraying it down with some kind of synthetic skin. Real twilight zone shit.”

“You saw the prototype?”

“I went to MIT, of course I did.”  He said it with the kind of tone that insinuated everyone else was inferior, “CyberLife is pushing out prototypes for private industries before selling to commercial use. I got an email from a colleague with some weird stuff in it, though...”

There was that name again.  CyberLife.  The one that had Sadie in a panic, asking all sorts of questions she shouldn’t have been asking.  Questions I wasn’t allowed to answer.  I had to wonder how close to that level of naivety and stupidity I was getting, myself.

“Weird how?”

But I kept going, because fuck it, why not?

“Said one of the founders might be putting one of these things up to the Turing Test.  And my friend, Silvia?  _She_ thinks it’s gonna pass.”

I wasn’t gonna pretend I knew what the fuck the Turing Test was. 

“Why is that such a big deal?”

Before he could answer me, the Marines’ favorite Aussie butted in.

“Chris-” Liera called, “Getting some weird readings on an Abrams diagnostic.  You free?”

“I’m a pilot, not a mechanic.” Miller answered.

“Not _you_ …” She rolled her eyes.

Liera stood with her wrists on her hips, her arms and cheeks covered in black smudges.  Her white tank top was stained with sand and grease.  Her jacket was tied around her waist.  She swiped at her face, itching it with her knuckles, but the smears just got worse.

And then there was Grenier, perfectly free, able – _clean_ , holding up his cards, “Does it look like I’m free?”

“Seriously?”  She glared, stretching her jaw before speaking, “Cooper’s balls deep in a Humvee repair and I can’t figure out what the fuck this thing wants.”

She shook her head, looking out to the horizon, obviously pissed.  She would’ve had to have been working on it for a few hours if she’d broken down enough to ask for help.  Didn’t get to work with her much, but I heard from the others that she was a fiery one.  Guess you had to be to sit in an Abrams tank as long as she was required to.

“Ugh…” Grenier tossed his cards across the table, earning him complaints from the rest of them.

He looked at me before shrugging his fatigues jacket on, “You could always talk to that Corpsman with the MARSOC boys.  She went to Colridge for a little.  Real touchy about it, though.  If she shuts you down, ask her about Ivy Hawke.”

“Ivy Hawke? Who is-“

He held a hand up, “No can do.  You didn’t hear that from me, either.  Seriously.  You didn’t.”

My brows pinched, wondering how he knew something that I wouldn’t…especially about someone of her stature.

“Okay…Thanks, Grenier.  I guess.”  I looked at Liera, who was yelling at him to hurry up, “And good luck.”

“Yeah, good luck, brotha-man.” Miller threw down more cards, “And fuck you two, go fish.”

Damian and Fassi groaned, but I wouldn’t be around long enough to hear them argue.

Talon had just arrived, right on time…backing into the tent with a huge case of water in her hands.

 

…

 

The inside of the long barracks-style tent smelled like dirty socks and gym shorts that hadn’t been washed in a week.  It was clean, though.  Had to give them that.

Talon dropped the case of water on a makeshift desk – made out of a few cinderblocks and an unevenly cut piece of plywood.

The burly men all jumped up, cheering and rushing over like their mom had just got back from the grocery store with bags full of treats.  Talon opened her knife, the 6-inch blade springing free, and sliced the plastic cover on top.

“Alright,” with a flick of her wrist, she put the knife away, “Drink up, you tossers!  And don’t pack light, almost got thrown in the brig for this.”

The brig.  Cute.

“Miller.” She tossed a bottle to Liam.

“Thanks, Doc.” He opened it immediately, the bottle crinkling as he gulped it down.

“Walker.”  She threw another.

She stopped listing names as she passed out the bottles to the 9 Raiders, not so much as bothering to look at me as she spoke.

“I heard you were looking for me?”

It was almost bone-chilling, even in the middle of a desert.

“From who?” I asked.

She smirked, turning around as the rest of the men were preoccupied.  Even her patches – the amount and the type, said “fuck you.”

“I know when we first met, I was wearing blue fatigues…but now I, too, am Recon, Staff Sergeant Allen.”  Talon smirked, “So…what is it?  Do you require medical attention?”

“Uh- no…not exactly.” I cleared my throat, “Maybe we could talk outside?”

She raised a brow, finally noticing the manifest on the clipboard trembling in my hand.

“Right then.  Be back in a minute, boys.” She threw over her shoulder, walking outside with me, “What is it?”

I took a deep breath, taking to her side.  I pointed at the listing on the manifest, “I was wondering if you could tell me more about this-“

I jumped as she snatched it out of my hand, her nose twitching as she glared at the page.  She lifted it, looking for more, and when there was nothing, she slammed it back down.

She gave an angry hum under her breath, laughing to the side, crossing her arms with the clipboard underneath as she rocked on her heels – almost looking at the sky in disbelief.

“I , uh…I’m assuming you know what this is, Petty Off-‘

“Yes.  Yes, as a matter of fact, I do.” She slammed it in my chest, and I just barely had time to grab it before _she_ grabbed my shirt and pointed a finger in my face, “Who sent you?  Hm?  Henderson?”

“I-“

“Did he ask you to do this?”

“No-“

“Did-“

“Talon.” I barked, “I found this on my own, and I want to know what it means, that’s _IT!”_

Her eyes narrowed, scanning mine, deciding if she wanted to believe me.

“You givin’ her a hard time, Staff Sergeant?” Liam crossed his arms in the tent’s opening, fiddling with a pick in his mouth, “There somethin’ _we_ can help you with?”

I hadn’t noticed the pairs of eyes looking out of the wolves’ den.  But when I had, it was enough to make me want to run.  It was more than apparent I was in dangerous territory…and I told myself over and over that it’d never stopped me before.  It also had never stopped _them._

“We’re fine.” Talon saved me, letting go and nodding at Liam.

He shrugged, and they dispersed, but something told me none of them had gone far.  It was quieter after that, even as they prepped for deployment.

“What this means is that the DoD has no problem spending 200,000 on toy soldiers.”  She sucked her teeth, keeping her voice down, “But I can’t requisition a few extra, _clean_ fucking needles…”

Robots.  Toy soldiers.  Things were starting to make more sense, and I wish they hadn’t.  They were making it up.  They were crazy.  There was no fucking way.  All these things spun in my head.

“Toy soldiers?”  I asked.

She seemed to have been brought back to Earth.  Leveled out.  Was calm and optimistic, back to her old self.  Or maybe this was just the mask she wore, and that demonic intervention _had_ been the real her.

“I can’t talk about this with you, Staff Sergeant Allen.” She said nonchalantly, holding her hands out, “And neither can anyone else.”  They slapped against her sides, and she turned to leave, speaking with her back turned to me, “So I suggest you stop asking question-”

“Does this have something to do with Ivy Hawk?”

She stopped mid-step.  Went rigid.  Even her fucking hair seemed to stop moving, despite the breeze.  It was like she froze every atom in her body, rallying them up to fire outwards.   Like she was about to _combust._

“What?”

The only thing I heard was the sand crunching beneath her boots when she turned, and my own heart racing in my ears.

“Biocomponents, Colridge, Oxford-“ I sputtered, hoping something stuck.

I got the sinking feeling that I knew more than I was supposed to.  More than _anyone_ was supposed to.  And I got the feeling that she and Grenier did, too.  There was something going on, and it wasn’t _good._

“Petty Officer Talon-“

“Fuck off.” She glared.

My attempts at trying to reign in the moment with formalities obviously failed.  Her lip was still twitching.  Her eyes still burning.

“Sage, I just wanna get ahead of whatever this is.  No one will tell me anything, and there’s a _lot_ of zeroes next to this order.”  I brought my voice to a whisper, “I even asked Sadie who CyberLife was, and she freaked.”

“You told your wife about military ord-“

“No, I only asked her who CyberLife was.”

She sighed, looking around before beelining for me and grabbing my arm.  We ended up behind the tent, facing the perimeter wall.  It was just us and the guys walking around the ramparts, looking the opposite direction.

“You’re a chemist from Oxford.  I know you know what this is.” I urged.

“Yes, and before Oxford, I was at Colbridge University studying under Professor Amanda Stern in artificial intelligence.  After an…incident…” Her voice cracked, “I transferred to Oxford to study chemistry.  One late night, my team was sent a sample of a substance called Thirium.  We were told to refine it, and prepare it for testing – so we did, and we tested it with the biocomponents…” She stopped, “Do you know what biocomponents are?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, so we tested the refined Thirium, also known as Thirium-310, with the biocomponents-“

“To see how fast data would transfer between the parts-“

“Yes, and when we were finished, we were instructed to return all the biocomponents to Colbridge.  We told them a few were damaged, and sent the rest back.  They insisted we send the broken ones too, but we told them we’d already disposed of them.”

I rubbed my chin, “But you didn’t.”

“No, we didn’t.  We suspected something was afoot, and after they chastised us for disposing of the broken equipment, after _demanding_ they be the ones to do as such, our suspicions were only confirmed.”

All of this was becoming very hard to swallow.  A conspiracy between colleges, scientists,  and now the military was buying in?  The US fucking government?

“We wanted to figure out what they were building.  So we ran tests.  And more tests.”  There was a voice crack again, “And what we discovered was that they were building a human, but not from a tube.  From a machine press.”

Sage Talon was never one to get emotional.  I didn’t know she was able.  But if I hadn’t known better, I would say she was fighting back a surge of sadness.  Tears.

“So, when you say toy soldiers…” I was fighting back my own surge – but it was more like _panic._

“I meant it very literally.”

I put my thumbs through my beltloops, walking away for a minute as if I needed fresh air.  As if I’d been locked in a dusty room for hours and needed to breathe.  But there wasn’t any escaping, and I was out in the open – feeling like I needed to dodge a bullet that I didn’t even know was coming, and didn’t know when it would be fired.

“What does this have to do with Ivy Hawk?”  I asked, stepping one foot back to turn to her.

As I asked, as I saw her, I felt the air leave my lungs.  I didn’t know what had happened to Ivy Hawk at that time, or what caused her so much pain.  I didn’t know who she was.  I didn’t have anything to go on but a name.  And I may have never been the most book smart, but I was reconnaissance for a reason.  I saw things that most people couldn’t.  Pieced them together in my own, unique mental algorithm.

I knew a little more about Ivy Hawk when I asked that question to Sage Talon.  Ivy and Sage were plants.  Hawk, and Talon...a bird of prey, and one weapon in that bird’s arsenal.

Ivy Hawk and Sage Talon were the same person.  Or so I thought, before she answered my question.

“It has…it _had,_ **everything** to do with Ivy Hawk...” Sage looked down, her features falling flat, “Although, she’s somewhat of an anomaly, now.  But that’s how it works, isn’t it?  The world comes for us all, Staff Sergeant.  Progress is…”

She dazed off into space.  Her eyes unfocused, now, but still just as distant.  Maybe further away than before…and she was _not_ anywhere she wanted to be.

“…Inevitable.”

 

* * *

 

**Behind the Scenes**

 

* * *

 

From Chapter 1: Dogs of War - "It’d started with a **manifest** , and had ended in a _massacre."_

[Marines' Hymn](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marines%27_Hymn)

[Rifleman's Creed](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rifleman%27s_Creed)

[Written to "Heaven Knows" by The Pretty Reckless](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U2LdI7rzowk)


	7. Chronological Guide to Natural Selection and Machine Learning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This list will update with each chapter. It will also be cross-posted in Natural Selection to prevent confusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Machine Learning chapters in **Bold.**

  1. [Part I: The Modern Synthesis](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18384533/chapters/43536062)
  2. [Radioactive Dating](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18384533/chapters/43617929)
  3. [Spontaneous Generation](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18384533/chapters/43618166)
  4. [Introduced Species](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18384533/chapters/43685078)
  5. [Genetic Drift](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18384533/chapters/43685081)
  6. [Cognitive Specialization](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18384533/chapters/43843531)
  7. [Carrying Capacity](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18384533/chapters/43922746)
  8. [Missing Link](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18384533/chapters/43922983)
  9. [Progress](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18384533/chapters/43923070)
  10. [Epistasis](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18384533/chapters/43923271)
  11. **[Disclaimer](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18620701/chapters/44153869)**
  12. **[Dogs of War](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18620701/chapters/44744713)**
  13. [Part II: The Coalescence](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18384533/chapters/43923307)
  14. **[Heaven's Gates](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18620701/chapters/44500156)**
  15. **[Wrath of God](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18620701/chapters/45053926#main)**
  16. **[Sundown](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18620701/chapters/45054220)**
  17. **[The Manifest](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18620701/chapters/45053878#main)**
  18. [Holy Matrimony](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18384533/chapters/43923355)
  19. [Dia de la Independencia](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18384533/chapters/43923493)



**Author's Note:**

>  **[Machine Learning Trailer](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=avC6QhpwpEA)**  
>   
>  **[Machine Learning Playlist (Updates with new chapters)](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL0zUMypxys0-Gd6z0rMSTXJ9pyy9dzzEi)**  
>   
>  **NOTE:** If you are viewing the outline listed below on a MOBILE DEVICE, you will need to toggle the PRINT LAYOUT option in the upper right-hand corner of the app.  
>   
>  **[Machine Learning Rank and Assignment Guide (Google Docs)](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1PFncBNknVRcM4cmzyxGV6AufaprmCXf1unroYDF5V8M/edit?usp=sharing)**  
>   
>  **Join the conversation** in the [Deviant Behavior Discord](https://discordapp.com/invite/X8AmNQn) (now with over 200 members) to say hi to myself, the betas, other members of the Detroit: Become Human community, play with the bot, or shamelessly lurk (which, let's be honest, that's what Discord is for)


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